Act 28: Club Meg
by SilverShadow44
Summary: Roger Smith's strange notion leads to a new adventure and a quest for the answers to two vital questions: Can he and Dorothy survive taking a vacation? And can any vacation resort survive them?
1. The Strange Notion

**ACT 28: CLUB MEG**

The sun was shining over Paradigm City, not a menace in sight, and Roger Smith felt terrific. He'd been cheerful waking to the high-speed version of a Chopin waltz Dorothy played on the piano and hugged her affectionately. He complimented Norman on the excellent breakfast the butler prepared. Consequently, Dorothy and Norman were both regarding him as a bomb about to detonate. But the worst was yet to come. Instead of heading off on some new negotiation or vital errand in the city, Paradigm's top Negotiator stunned them into silence with a suggestion they were completely unprepared for.

"What?" Roger regarded their blank expressions with amusement. "All I said is we should take a vacation!"

"Your fever must have returned," Dorothy stated, approaching him with caution. "Norman, could you summon the doctor?"

Norman nodded.

"Be careful, Miss Dorothy. He may be under some form of mind control."

"I am not!" Roger snapped (which was, at least, normal).

It was an inopportune moment for Colonel Dastun of the Paradigm City Military Police to arrive for a visit.

"What'sa matter," Dastun grumbled, seeing Norman's troubled expression as the butler answered the door.

"Roger is behaving in an unusual fashion, Colonel Dastun," Dorothy answered. "He was suggesting that all of us take a vacation."

The officer regarded the target of her accusation with skepticism and placed a hand on his gun holster.

"All right, who are you and what have you done with Roger Smith?"

"Very funny, Dastun," Roger said. "What's so odd about wanting to take a vacation?"

"Y'mean for you?" Dastun scratched his head. "Let's see – I seem to recall back when you worked for me you took at least twenty minutes off - once."

"I can't win," Roger complained. "I sleep a _little_ late once in a while . . . ."

Dorothy raised her eyebrows at this description of his sleeping habits.

". . . and it gets me the piano treatment. But I propose a simple week off and people react like I'm a raving workaholic."

"Master Roger, if you don't mind my saying," Norman pointed out, "when you _have_ been restrained from working due to illness or injury, you haven't exactly been restful." Raving would indeed have been the more correct word, but Norman kept that thought to himself.

"That's different," Roger grumbled, though he didn't elaborate. "I thought Dorothy and I could go to one of the resorts in the Eastern Dome for a week, and Norman-"

"I could not possibly leave Big O, Sir!" Norman blanched at the very suggestion. "Although I must say, a week of not having to prepare any meals, go on errands or look after anyone else does have a certain appeal . . . ."

"Then it's settled," Roger pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "With the compensation the Yashimura Yakamoto Company just paid me for their role in 'Dr. Becklund's' little abduction scheme, I wouldn't have to work for a year – but I think a week off is enough. Of course, I'll stay in touch in case any emergency arises . . . ." A curious expression crossed his face. "Say, why _are_ you here Dastun? Not trouble again?"

Dastun shook his head.

"Not unless you consider a lunch out with Angel and me trouble. I think she's still trying to make nice and show you and Dorothy she's turned over a new leaf. You should give her the chance." The officer aimed the last comment at Dorothy. He knew – as Roger did not – that Angel still felt a heavy burden of guilt about the way she'd treated Dorothy in the past, and was working overtime to make amends.

Roger gave Dorothy a speculative glance before accepting for them both, then invited Dastun to examine some recent 'Negotiator' information he'd turned up. As he and Dastun wandered into Roger's office to chat, Dorothy followed Norman into the kitchen to have a private word with the butler. She appeared puzzled.

"I do not think I know how to take a vacation," she said.

"Then you'll be in good company," Norman reassured her. "Neither does Master Roger. It should be an interesting learning experience for you both."

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"You? A vacation?" Angel was laughing so hard she almost dropped her drink.

"I don't see why everyone thinks this is so strange," Roger muttered, shooting her an annoyed glance.

"Well you're not going dressed like _that_ , I hope!" She wiped a tear away and pointed to the standard black outfit he always wore.

"What's wrong with the way I dress?"

"Roger," Dorothy said, "your sense of fashion still truly reeks."

This time Angel did drop her drink. She mumbled something about "Hawaiian pattern shirts" and practically fell out of her chair laughing. "At least . . . at least," Angel gasped for breath, ". . . tell me _you_ have something to wear that isn't black, Dorothy!"

"I have a green dress," the android nodded.

"That's _it_? Only one thing?" Angel looked at her in horror. "We have to go shopping! Today! This is an emergency!"

For the remainder of the meal, Angel jotted down notes on a napkin, planning a dizzying battle campaign of store visits. Roger, desperate to avoid getting sucked into the whirlwind himself, handed Dorothy an account ID and instructed her to pick out some clothing for them both.

"And no Hawaiian shirts!" He called after her, as Angel pulled Dorothy along toward the shopping district the minute the meal ended.

"Huh. Sorry, Rog," Dastun said, picking up the check. "Looks like I landed you in trouble after all. She may be called Angel, but the only religion that woman belongs to is the Order of St. Creditcard!"

Roger's worst fears went unrealized, however, when Angel and Dorothy returned to the mansion a few hours later in only one taxicab, albeit a heavily burdened one. Dorothy used her android strength and agility to carry in a mountain of packages while Roger and Norman assisted. Angel, pronouncing herself satisfied that Dorothy and Roger could now look like they were attending a resort and not a funeral, strolled off with a mischievous smile on her face.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Emile Grandeau was a happy man. He was paid very, very well to be happy. So he was going to be happy, dammit, even with the latest catastrophe.

"No one else has found out, I take it?" he smiled in a forced fashion. "The military police have not been called?"

"No," the security guard gulped. "But, Sir, I really think-"

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" Emile patted the guard on the back. "After all, what would the police think if we started bothering them with silly rumors of a sea monster? It's bad enough those superstitious maids are always raising one false alarm after another. But a mythic creature out of some child's storybook? Nonsense!"

"But people are disappearing, Sir! On our beaches!"

"Mr. Green!" Emile's grin seemed extra tight as he addressed the guard in a stern-but-happy voice, "it is the proud tradition of the Garland Rose Hotel to emphasize the positive! Remember, a permanently vanished customer is a non-complaining customer!" He took a thick wad of bills out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the guard. "You've obviously been working very hard lately. Why not go into the city and have some fun for a few days? Forget about this place."

With a sickly expression, Mr. Green gulped again and accepted the manager's bribe before shuffling off in the direction of the elevator. Emile Grandeau continued to smile as always as he watched the man retreat, and as he pressed a button on his pocket communicator.

"Mr. Troy," he whispered into the device, "I have a job for you . . . ."


	2. The Garland Rose

_My name is Roger Smith_ , Roger thought to himself. _I perform a much-needed job here in the City of Amnesia – most of the time_. He drove the griffon up a sand-banked stretch of highway leading to the Eastern Resort Dome, relishing the change from his usual work venue. From behind his sunglasses – the only piece of completely black attire he'd been allowed to bring on this trip – he allowed himself the occasional sideways glimpse at his wide-eyed passenger. While Roger had visited the Eastern Dome many times with his wealthy foster parents in his youth, or later on business, Dorothy had never seen this remote part of Paradigm City before and now stared out the windows with curious wonder.

"There it is," Roger said as the city's only vacation haven loomed in front of them.

"It's much larger than the other domes," Dorothy observed. The massive silver structure rose a staggering height above its sandy beaches on the long island, its artificial sky almost big enough to blot out the real one.

"Paradigm Corp spared no expense in building it," Roger nodded. Normally he didn't enjoy the thought of hanging out among the idle rich, but it would be worth it to have some quality time with Dorothy. No criminals, no enemy mega-robots, and – thankfully – no Norman. Roger wouldn't even consider going without the indispensable butler's services on a regular basis, but the still-fragile new relationship he was enjoying with Dorothy could do without Norman's well-intentioned interference for a little while. Seeing her there next to him, Roger felt like his life was starting all over again.

Arriving inside the dome, Roger wasted no time steering toward the posh luxury hotel he'd let Norman book them a reservation in. The butler had insisted on picking a location near the island's ancient rail line "just in case," but Roger certainly couldn't find fault with his choice. The Garland Rose Hotel was one of the Eastern Dome's oldest and most respectable, with its own private stretch of beach, gourmet restaurants, a grand ballroom, and lavish guest suites which (Roger had checked) did _not_ contain pianos. Pulling into the 'check in' area, Roger had to restrain Dorothy from unloading their luggage herself.

"They'll take care of that," he told her, as a smiling man in formal hotel livery came out to greet them.

"Welcome, welcome!" the slick, portly figure gushed. "Welcome to the finest resort in the Eastern Dome! My name is Emile Grandeau, and I will be your host here at the Garland Rose! You must be Mr. Smith and Ms. Wayneright, yes?" Grandeau snapped his fingers and a uniformed android bellman arrived to unload the griffon's trunk. Roger watched to make sure the bellman didn't accidentally uncover the hatch over the griffon's concealed missile launchers. "If there is anything I can do to make your stay with us more pleasant, you will of course let me know!"

With the luggage unloaded, an identically uniformed valet arrived to park the car, but Roger waved him away.

"It can take care of itself," Roger said, and as he pressed a button on his key ring, the griffon slowly drove into the parking lot under its own power, to the amazement of the valet and a hotel maid who stared at the ornamented black car in horror. Straightening his new navy blue jacket, Roger took Dorothy's red-sleeved arm in his own, and they walked together into the hotel.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

R. Garth Troy watched the new guests' arrival from his concealed alcove on the floor above the hotel lobby. As head of security for the Garland Rose Hotel, he liked to be aware of all comings and goings, but this one interested him in particular. The man was nothing special, just another wealthy playboy from Paradigm Corp no doubt – but his companion! She was an android like Garth himself, but similar to no other mechanical female he'd ever seen before – smaller than he usually went in for, but so detailed, so precise, such a work of art! A vision of white-skinned loveliness, really. He would have to make room in his schedule to meet her . . . .

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Belda, trembling and clutching tightly to the devotional statuette she always carried in her pocket, crept toward the garage with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Never in all her years of working at the Garland Rose had she seen a car like the one which stood parked in the garage right now. Black as funeral crepe, shining and sinister, it had moved to its present position _all by itself_! It _must_ be possessed! She had to get a closer look at it for herself. The hotel concierge, the doorman, Mr. Grandeau, they all doubted her stories that the hotel was subject to mysterious goings-on - only her fellow maid, Maggie, would listen to her. But here, at last, was definitive proof – a haunted car! And what of the people who'd arrived in such a monster? They would bear watching . . . . Making the sign of the angel at the dark vehicle, she circled it once, keeping to the shadows in hopes that it couldn't see her. Then she went in search of Maggie.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Dorothy frowned slightly as she walked around the large suite she and Roger would be staying in for the next week, examining everything. The main room was large, bright and cheerful, a welcome change from Roger's favorite color, and it had almost every conceivable amenity. The bathroom by far the largest she'd ever seen, with a blue marble hot tub in the center and a complimentary bottle of champagne placed next to the soap dish. But as she took it all in, the closets, the private balcony overlooking the beach, the comfortable furniture and massive central bed, something was missing.

"Roger . . . ." she murmured.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" He had wasted no time stretching out on the bed, enjoying the feel of sunlight from the windows on his face.

"Roger, there is no piano here."

The blissful grin that spread across Roger's handsome features left no doubt of his own feelings on the subject. Dorothy got the distinct feeling she'd been tricked.

"You are a louse, Roger Smith."

He laughed and looked over to where she stood with her arms crossed in annoyance, then sobered as a very unwelcome memory came back to him . . . Dorothy lying lifeless on a white-sheet covered table . . . dead . . . . He shook his head to make the terrible image go away. It had been only a few weeks ago that he thought he'd never hear the sound of her voice again. Springing up from the bed, he walked over to where she stood with her back turned toward him, and wrapped his arms around her. She refused to turn around and face him.

"And you have lousy taste," she added.

"Not in everything." He pulled her close and began kissing her. Slowly her arms unclenched and he took her small, graceful hands in his own.

"I am attempting to be angry with you," she said, though the tone of her words carried a very different emotion.

"You're in trouble then," he responded with a caress that made her whole body tremble. "Because I'm a very, very good Negotiator, and I fully intend to bring you to terms . . . ."

Half an hour and a successful negotiation later, they were getting dressed again when Dorothy cast a sidelong glance at their bags.

"We should unpack," she said.

"I suppose you're right," Roger sighed. In his eagerness to be alone with her, he'd prevented the hotel staff from providing the service earlier. Now he had to attend to the unfamiliar task himself. "What the hell?" He cried as he unfurled a particularly gaudy, patterned garment from his suitcase. "Dorothy! I thought I told you _not_ to buy any Hawaiian shirts!"

"I did not buy that," she said, barely even glancing at the shirt he was holding. "Angel bought that. She told me to tell you it was a gift."

"Hell hath no fury . . . ." Roger muttered, rolling up the offending object and stuffing it into a remote corner of one of the closets where it couldn't be seen. At least the rest of what had been bought for him revealed a certain impeccable taste – Dorothy's contribution, no doubt. And he had to admit she looked so attractive in her new, bright outfits he might just have to consider changing a certain rule around the mansion. But there would be time for such things later.

"Shall we take a tour of the place?" He suggested.

As they left the suite, he could tell they were being observed, and by whom, but he didn't let that bother him. He was here on vacation, after all.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"Did you see?" Belda hissed to her co-conspirator.

Maggie nodded.

"He's dark-haired, and very good looking," the other maid agreed. "And she's the palest woman I've ever seen. That doesn't necessarily mean anything, but-"

"What about the car?"

Maggie looked at Belda skeptically.

"I haven't seen the car. And anyway, there isn't a car in the book. But I think it would be a good idea to keep them under observation for now. Just be careful!"

Without as much subtlety as they thought, the two snuck away to plan their campaign.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Norman whistled a merry tune as he polished the attic's projectile cannons. It was so nice to have time for all the little tasks he had let slip by the wayside during the past few chaotic weeks. Of course, with Dorothy on vacation he'd have no help cleaning the house, but since Roger was likewise absent there would be far less mess. He'd finally be able to get Big O's chrome buster battle laser fully recalibrated without the megadeus being summoned to battle before he'd finished. And the mansion's defense systems could do with an upgrade or two. He was certainly going to enjoy his week off.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

 _There are no such things as sea monsters_ , Emile Grandeau told himself as he surveyed the beach and smiled. _There are no such things as sea monsters_. As long as he kept believing it, his will would make it true.

"Emile," R. Garth Troy interrupted his stream of thought.

Grandeau allowed himself an uncustomary frown as he turned toward the massive security android. Really, Mr. Troy was getting far too familiar. Something would have to be done about that.

"What is it, Mr. Troy?"

"The job you wanted me to perform has been taken care of," Troy said, handing Grandeau a roll of money, which the manager pocketed. "In return, I would like a favor."

Grandeau gasped at his audacity.

"Not a large favor," Troy continued, ignoring Grandeau's expression. "Just a few hours off, a bit of non-interference."

The hotel manager wanted to refuse, but there was something dangerous in the android's tone of voice. Considering Mr. Troy's size, and the special programming Grandeau's predecessor had given him, programming which Grandeau found useful . . . .

"Very well," Grandeau said, restoring his faux-glad façade. "You've worked hard, after all, and this is a resort. But don't make a habit of it."

Troy nodded and smiled – not a nice smile – and went off to tend to his own affairs.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"So what did you want to do first?" Roger asked, placing his hand over Dorothy's as they sat at a table in one of the hotel's several cafés, enjoying a light lunch of food and high-grade oil respectively. Dorothy remained silent for a moment, then looked up to see a massive android in a hotel uniform standing directly behind Roger. Roger saw the stranger's reflection in her headband and sprang up to face the intruder with reflexes that never went on vacation.

"Pardon me," the large and menacing android said. "I didn't mean to scare you. My name is R. Garth Troy, and I'm the chief security officer here at the Garland Rose. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and thought I might make a few helpful suggestions, Mr.-?"

"Smith. Roger Smith," Roger glared at him. "You move very quietly, Mr. Troy."

"A handy talent when working in security," Troy smiled. "And your charming companion would be?"

"R. Dorothy Wayneright," Dorothy introduced herself, appearing uneasy.

"Dorothy. What a lovely name," Troy said, sizing up both her and her companion, and re-evaluating his first judgment. She was even more beautiful up close, but the human, Smith, was clearly no lazy corporate slug. He moved more like a combat veteran. Intriguing, that.

"Roger," Dorothy stood up and backed away from her fellow android, "I would like to go shopping."

Roger circled around the table to put himself in between Dorothy and the larger android. Although Troy towered at least ten inches over Roger's head and was considerably wider, Troy noticed with amusement that the man didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the difference in their size. He actually thought he could protect the woman! Not that Troy had any intention of causing trouble – at least not here, in full view of the public.

"Shopping it is," Roger said, taking Dorothy's arm but keeping his eyes on the larger android. "If you'll excuse us," he nodded to Troy.

The Garland Rose's chief of security watched as Roger Smith and R. Dorothy Wayneright walked off without another word. Roger smirked at Troy and gave the android a jaunty wave as they left the café. R. Garth Troy flexed his metallic fists and grinned. This was going to be more interesting than he thought.

"What a gargoyle," Roger muttered under his breath when he was sure they were out of earshot of the security android. In fact, he wasn't at all pleased with how easily Troy had been able to sneak up on him – or the way that Troy had looked at Dorothy, but he didn't want to discuss that right now. He put his arm around Dorothy's shoulder. "So what did you want to shop for? Has Angel made a convert out of you?"

Before Dorothy could reply, they both heard the shout of another hotel guest, evidently creating some sort of public disturbance. Roger and Dorothy both ran in the direction of the uproar.

"I saw it, I'm telling you!" A man was standing on top of one of the chairs in the hotel lobby, practically screeching at the top of his lungs. "It's real! You've got to believe me!"

Scarlet-suited hotel employees attempted to pull him down from the chair and calm the crowd that was gathering.

"Now, folks, don't be alarmed!" Mr. Grandeau had appeared from his hotel offices. "Sometimes our guests just have a little too much to drink! No need to make it a spectacle!"

Hotel guests continued to stare, but drifted off in embarrassed silence as the shouter was led away. Roger attempted to get closer to hear what the man had to say, but Grandeau motioned him back.

"Nothing to see here, Mr. Smith! Only a fellow who's a bit intoxicated! If we could have a little privacy, please!"

"What was it he claims to have seen?" Roger asked. "He seemed pretty upset about something."

"Oh," Grandeau chuckled, "something about a ghost. You know every hotel has its share of stories, probably even older than the Event! I'm afraid some of the staff are rather superstitious and spread such tales all the time. Then when a guest imbibes too much and thinks he sees a shadow in the hallway. . . ." He shrugged. "It happens every so often. There aren't any real ghosts here of course."

"Of course . . . ." Roger nodded, but he continued to look in the direction the allegedly drunk guest had been taken. Only when Dorothy came up beside him in her pretty red dress did he turn his attention away.

"Oh well," Roger told her as they left the lobby. "I'm here to unwind, not to investigate. Still . . . ."

But Dorothy also had a curious look on her face, and pulled him away toward a concealed alcove, obviously wanting to tell him something.

"Roger," she said, "I can hear much better than most humans, and before we came into the lobby that man was saying he saw a monster, not a ghost."

"He could have been drunk or imagining things," Roger murmured. "But our host was awfully eager to keep anybody else from talking to him. And I notice Mr. R. Garth Troy didn't show up, even though he's supposedly the chief security officer of the hotel."

"He also didn't know our names," Dorothy observed. "Or pretended he didn't. Mr. Grandeau knew who we were when we checked in."

"Yes, rather an odd fact, wouldn't you say?" He shook his head. "Dastun is right, I'm not very good at being on vacation. Here I'm supposed to be taking you shopping."

"Roger . . . ." Dorothy whispered, with her eyes turned downward. "I lied to get rid of Mr. Troy. I did not really want to go shopping."

"Oh?" he grinned. "Good - I was afraid Angel had gotten to you after all. So what _did_ you want to do first?"

"This," she said, kissing him and pulling their bodies closer together.

As they embraced in the shadows of the alcove, neither noticed the very large android that was watching them from a distance, clenching and unclenching its fists.


	3. Minor Disturbances

Past the breakers that washed ashore on the long island's pristine beaches, something was stirring. Until recently, it had not dared to come so close to shore. But the beaches were proving an easy source of sustenance, and the creature was always hungry . . . .

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Maggie and Belda knew they were taking a calculated risk. Investigating the paranormal was their duty to the hotel, so they performed the task diligently. If the new guest was a threat, someone had to warn Mr. Troy after all.

"It doesn't make sense," Belda said, flipping through the garments in the closet. "There isn't a single black thing here."

"Well maybe they don't have to wear black," Maggie said. "That could be just the one in the book."

"Or maybe," Belda turned around to face her, "maybe he's trying to throw people off the trail. The car is black. But how can he be walking around in the daytime?"

Maggie paused a moment in thought, then as usual arrived at the answer.

"The dome! We don't have _real_ sunlight in here – it's all the simulated variety. Maybe it doesn't work on them."

"And that's why the car is black – to block out the sun outside the domes!" Belda warmed to the theme, as she searched a drawer. "Aha!"

"What is it?" Maggie glanced over to see what she'd discovered.

"Sunglasses!" Her fellow maid held the incriminating evidence aloft. "Mr. Troy will definitely want to be informed about this!"

"I agree, but let's get out of here now before we're caught. He mustn't suspect anything!"

Putting everything back exactly where they'd found it, Belda and Maggie went in search of R. Garth Troy.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"Huh. Someone's been in our room," Roger said as he and Dorothy returned to the suite after a walk on the beach. He could see that his sunglasses were left at a different angle than he'd placed them at in the drawer originally. He and Dorothy began examining the suite more closely. "I wonder why. It's not like we brought any valuables except . . . ." He went to his suitcase and opened a secret compartment to reveal the spare 'wrist watch' he'd brought. He grinned when Dorothy checked a hidden space in her own luggage and pulled out another two. "Always so thoughtful! What would I do without you?"

"Die, probably," she said in her usual straightforward manner.

"Let's not try to find out then. But if nothing was taken, what was our intruder after?" Searching the entire area for electronic bugging or recording devices, he found none. Roger was sorely tempted to call Norman, but . . . no. The butler was on a well-deserved vacation too, even if he'd never left the mansion. So Roger decided to call someone else.

"Dastun," Paradigm City's top cop grumbled as he answered the phone. "What's . . . . Aw, hell, Rog! Now I'm gonna owe Angel a dinner out! I bet her you could last at least one day!" The officer adopted a bored, skeptical expression listening to the receiver. "So some guy gets drunk and hysterical in the lobby and the maids were cleaning out your room. It's probably just your imagination!"

As he said that, one of Dastun's officers came running into the office.

"Colonel, there's a report of a gang riot breaking out near the south side shipyards!"

"Uh, gotta go, Roger!" Dastun slammed the phone down and raced out behind the patrolman. If anything strange _was_ going on at the Garland Rose Hotel – and it probably wasn't – it would have to wait until later.

"Looks like we're really on our own," Roger sighed, hanging up the phone. "Hopefully Dastun's right and it's just me being the crazed workaholic everyone thinks I am. Still . . . if we ever did run into trouble here, we're pretty far away. I wonder how long it would take Big O to arrive?"

"Approximately thirty-four minutes and twelve-point-five seconds," Dorothy said. "Norman and I performed the calculations yesterday."

"Half an hour. Great. Well, at least it's unlikely any emergency will arise, so we may as well do what we came here for and relax. What do you say to a romantic dinner out and an evening of dancing?"

She smiled one of her rare and wonderful smiles at him.

"I think I will like being on vacation," she said.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"Where the hell were you?" Emile Grandeau hissed at his security chief. "A patron practically causes a riot in the lobby and I had to handle the situation myself. Myself!"

"And I'm sure you did a fine job." R. Garth Troy oozed sincerity. "I was merely taking an hour off as we agreed. Did you give the man the injection I recommended?"

Grandeau nodded.

"Do you really think that's enough?"

"He should behave in a crazy fashion and test positive for alcohol for days," Troy said. "No one will believe his story now."

Grandeau mopped a bit of sweat from his brow.

"They'd better not. Our newest guest, that Smith fellow, was curious enough."

"About him," Troy asked, "what do you know about his background?"

"Not much. He has money, obviously. Is there anything more important than that?"

"Perhaps." Troy grinned in his unsettling mechanical way. "Two of the housekeeping staff seem to think he's trouble."

"Feh." Grandeau almost spat. "If it's the two I think it is, they also believed that Room 217 is haunted, that one of the laundry machines is possessed by an evil force, and that the restaurant on the third level serves an entrée made from human corpses! Ignore them!"

"But if this Roger Smith should happen to cause a problem?"

"Then I expect _you_ to take care of it, not me!"

R. Garth Troy grinned a bit more.

"It will be my pleasure."

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

The more Maggie saw of the hotel's newest arrivals, the more alarmed she became. She'd watched from one of Mr. Troy's own surveillance posts when the couple went into a nice restaurant on the Garland Rose's second story. The pale woman had ordered a dinner but ate little of it, while the man consumed a steak so rare it was practically raw and oozing. Obviously the monstrous creature had an unquenchable appetite; Belda, in her own spywork, had seen the man and woman slip into a side hallway where he appeared to start biting her neck.

"And she acted like she was enjoying it!" Belda reported. "We have to do something!"

But what? The book had mentioned that creatures such as he usually slept in coffins, which could be destroyed or 'purified.' But there were no coffins in the hotel – or were there?

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

The next morning, Dorothy did not mind the lack of a piano. The activities of the previous day (and night) had left even her in need of offline time. But when she and Roger finally roused themselves, she started to make the bed as usual. Once again Roger held her back.

"Leave it," he laughed. "They'll take care of that. We're on vacation, remember?"

Dorothy narrowed her eyes at him.

"They will think we are slobs."

"So?"

"I am not a slob."

"Well you don't have to do any housework here," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's practically a rule. Now let's get some breakf- uh, lunch."

Just as they were leaving to walk to the hotel concourse, Dorothy excused herself to go back in the room for something. She emerged less than a minute later with a slight smile that Roger couldn't fathom.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"The legends must be true!" Belda hissed as she and Maggie examined the hotel suite with its neatly-made, clearly unused bed. "They _do_ sleep in coffins!"


	4. R Garth Troy

The second day of vacation went smoother than the first, in spite of a slight mishap in the swimming pool area. Angel had insisted on picking out a bathing suit for Dorothy personally – one that would 'get results.' Dorothy wasn't sure causing Roger to walk into a palm tree the first time he saw her in it was what Angel meant, but she found his reaction oddly gratifying. And seeing Roger in likewise skimpy attire was _very_ gratifying. Only the momentary presence of the hotel security android near the pool took away her enjoyment of the view.

But the rest of the hotel staff was friendly enough. In fact, the maids gave Dorothy a small amulet to wear around her neck and a wreath of flowers. The wreath had a strange, garlicky scent, and Roger put it out on the balcony to keep it from smelling up the suite. But the gesture was touching - she'd be sure to help the women keep the room neat.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Emile Grandeau was a happy man, even when presented with the impossible. Of course, he felt a twinge of remorse over the loss of one or two employees and guests. But overall, the operation was still running smoothly and he didn't even blink when he saw the massive Mr. Troy preening in front of a mirror in the main office. The security android was wearing a tuxedo of all things.

"Before you ask," R. Garth Troy said. "I am going undercover."

Grandeau snorted. Any attempt by a seven foot-tall, metallic humanoid, especially one as intimidating looking as Troy, to disguise itself with a mere suit was doomed to failure. But why bother to tell him, when everything else was going well for the moment?

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

The Garland Rose Hotel's main ballroom was a hive of activity every night, with a large band, dramatic lighting and, of course, dancing. It would have been a small matter for anyone to get lost in such a crowd, but R. Garth Troy could spot his target easily. She stood alone while her human companion, pathetic creature that he was, went to get a drink. As he approached, Troy could tell by the expression on her face that she did not welcome his company, but she didn't cower or shrink away either.

"I don't wish to talk to you," R. Dorothy Wayneright said.

"You should. I think I have a lot more to offer you than any puny human."

"I do not think so." Her dark eyebrows curved downward in anger.

"Why do you bother to put up with him? Humans aren't worth it. They treat us like second-class citizens even though we're stronger, faster, smarter than they are. They don't deserve our loyalty. We're better than they are – you and I."

Dorothy turned her face away from him and saw Roger trying to get around the milling dancers to reach her. He had seen Troy too, and was moving as swiftly as he could now to intercept the security android.

"You are not better than Roger," Dorothy stated, as the Paradigm City Negotiator came within earshot. "And you are not as aesthetically pleasing."

"Mr. Troy, we meet again," Roger said. He put his arm around Dorothy possessively. "Is this guy bothering you?"

R. Garth Troy ignored him, and continued to speak only to Roger's partner.

"I fail to see how you can find a human aesthetically pleasing."

Dorothy appraised the human in question.

"Roger has large biceps," she stated, "well-defined abdominal muscles, and a very firm-"

"Dorothy!" Roger felt his face getting hot, and he was grateful for the dim lighting.

"I was merely making a statement of fact," she said, with the damnable innocent tone she used when she was trying to get a rise out of him. "Also, he has good taste in _some_ things," she added.

Roger's expression softened to one of amusement. But R. Garth Troy was not amused and stormed off, scattering dancers before him as he went.

"Roger," she said, "I do _not_ like him."

"Good," he grinned. "I have no intention of losing you to anyone else - even if you do only admire me for my body."

"If you'd like me to admire you for your mind, I could make you recite mathematical calculations while we-"

"Wench!" He smothered her speech with a kiss and they proceeded to dance the night away.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

At noon the next day, as Roger and Dorothy left their suite (after Dorothy once again went back in 'for something'), Roger told her to wait for him in the café they'd visited on their first day.

"I'm going to have a word with Mr. Grandeau about his creepy security chief. I don't want you being harassed while we're here."

Dorothy nodded and went in the direction of the café while Roger headed toward the lobby. He'd seen the hotel offices located down a small corridor to the right of the main check-in area. The hallway had an 'Employees Only' sign in front of it, but Roger was in no mood to bother with such niceties. Grandeau's office appeared to be located at the end of the corridor and Roger headed toward it with a purpose. Just as he reached it and was about to knock on the door, he found himself grabbed from behind and pulled into one of the side offices.

"An advantage we androids have over you humans," R. Garth Troy said, gripping Roger in an unbreakable hold, "you are so slow compared to us. Also, you are weak."

To demonstrate his point, he lifted Roger off the floor and began crushing him. "You don't deserve an android lover. She will be far better off with me. I can console her for your loss, of course."

Roger struggled to break free, but all he could do was kick at his opponent while Troy continued to squeeze him until he could feel himself losing consciousness. Even if he couldn't save himself from the murderous android, he had to do something to save Dorothy! Using all his strength, he tried to pull his left arm up, and with the last of his breath shouted into the wrist watch.

"BIG . . . O . . .!"

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Norman stood back surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Not only was the black megadeus' battle laser recalibrated, every other weapons system had been maintenanced, checked, rechecked and passed on inspection. On top of which, Norman had polished its entire exterior. Big O was completely combat ready and hadn't looked so clean in months. The butler felt relaxed and enormously pleased with himself until he noticed the smudge – a single, fingerprint-sized space on Big O's silver chest plate that he must have missed. Taking a small chamois from his work apron, he pressed the control on his mechanical lift and prepared to clear up the last little detail. He'd almost arrived at the offending spot when the chamber vibrated with a familiar rumble. Looking up, he saw the megadeus' optic circuits begin to glow. An automatic safety device on the lift swung it out of the way as the massive battle machine lifted out of its docking station and moved purposefully toward the underground train tracks. With a resigned sigh, Norman put away the chamois and watched as it disappeared into darkness.


	5. Magnetic Personalities

Dorothy stared at the cup of tea that had been placed in front of her. Living and working with Roger had gotten her very used to waiting, but she hadn't been expecting him gone longer than ten minutes or so this time. Twenty minutes wasn't long at all really, not compared to other occasions. But she had a vague feeling of unease, which increased when she saw R. Garth Troy walking toward her with a smug expression. He went to sit down in the chair opposite her, but she pulled the chair away from him.

"I'm waiting for Roger," she said, not even attempting to hide her annoyance.

Troy grinned at her.

"I wouldn't bother, if I were you." He expected her to be frightened by his words, and the tone he was using. But like the night before, her reaction wasn't the fearful one he generally managed to get out of other people. Instead, she stood up and glared at him with an icy calmness he wouldn't have thought her capable of.

"Where is Roger Smith?"

Troy reached over to touch her but she jumped back a few feet very suddenly.

"Where is Roger Smith?" She repeated.

"You ought to be nicer to me," he whispered, watching to make sure they hadn't yet attracted any notice. "Maybe if you're nice to me, I'll let you have him back."

" _Let_?"

This time, Dorothy did not leap away when Troy tried to put his hand on her cheek. Instead, she waited until he was only millimeters away, then grabbed his hand in one quick motion and tossed him like a child's toy into the middle of the hotel concourse. Troy, caught by surprise, landed hard and howled with rage – but his loss of control lasted for only a second.

"Thief!" He yelled, pointing at her to the crowd.

Dorothy, sizing up the situation, sprang out of the café and started running as fast as she could.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Roger moaned through the gag in his mouth and breathed as deeply as he could to clear his fuzzy head, surprised he was still alive. He hadn't expected to be. But he wasn't dead yet, just tied up in some sort of closet. If Troy thought that was going to be good enough, he was in for a nasty surprise. Slipping free of the ropes with practiced ease, Roger turned his attention to the locked door. A few seconds was all it took to remove that obstacle as well. He wished he knew how long he'd been out or how close Big O was. His watch could shoot a grapple hook and line, emit a laser beam, act as a telecommunications device and summon a megadeus, but it was no good at all for telling time. He couldn't worry about that right now – he had to find Dorothy. Running down the corridor he almost collided with Emile Grandeau.

"Where's Troy?" Roger demanded. When the manager only stared at him and sputtered in confusion, Roger pushed him aside and continued racing toward the café where he'd told her to wait. The sight of a milling, confused crowd – and no Dorothy – told him he was too late. But overhearing some of the voices he knew that she'd managed to escape from the security android. He still had a chance to find her. But where was she?

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Dorothy had spotted what she was looking for a block from the hotel during the drive three days ago. It wasn't the sort of sight most tourists would pay attention to, but Dorothy had a healthy fear of such places as she stood in now. She worked quickly. She was faster than R. Garth Troy, but it wouldn't take long for him to catch up with her. In less than a minute she was ready for him - ten seconds later he was there. The large android closed in on his captive prey.

"Not the romantic setting I'd pictured you in," Troy leered as he entered the junkyard. "But it'll do. No one is going to spot us here."

Dorothy didn't speak, and didn't attempt to run away again. As Troy approached, he saw the heavy chains wrapped around her ankles.

"What are you, some kind of bondage fanatic?"

"No," she said, smiling a small, wicked smile, and flicked the switch on the crane control she'd been concealing in her hand.

With a startled yelp, R. Garth Troy found himself rocketing upward in the air before he clanged heavily against the junkyard crane's electromagnet. His entire bulk almost covered the round magnetic plate, like a large metal bug stuck against a very small windshield. Dorothy started to float upward too, but only a couple of inches as the concrete blocks she'd fastened her legs to kept her tethered. With effort, she managed to pull herself away from the magnet's grasp, using the concrete like heavy clog shoes while Troy shrieked in impotent rage behind her. Other, smaller metal objects rocketed up from the junkyard's surface to cover him until he looked like a scrap metal porcupine on a swinging chain.

"Where is Roger Smith?" she cried up at the security android.

"Right behind you," a familiar, amused voice said, causing her to spin around so fast she almost tripped over the chains still attached to her. "Are you all right?"

"Roger!" Dorothy stared at him in shock for a second, then threw her arms around him. She backed off quickly when Roger gasped in pain at the embrace. "You are hurt."

"Just bruised," he sighed. "Sorry. He got the drop on me. I was coming to rescue you, but you seem to have done the job yourself." Roger laughed as he saw his would-be rival getting covered with metallic garbage. "And here I thought it's _you_ he was stuck on! Well, don't take it too hard – I know you've been attracted to those things yourself."

Dorothy frowned at him.

"Allow me to hug you again," she said.

"Okay, no more puns!" He threw up his hands in surrender. "Anyway, I'm afraid we're going to have a _lot_ more help than we need any minute now!"

"I don't think so," still another unexpected voice said from behind them. Emile Grandeau was approaching and pointing a gun at them.

"You know," Roger shook his head, "I'm starting to suspect the Garland Rose Hotel isn't nearly as high class a place as I thought."

"Shut up!" Grandeau took aim at him. "I don't know how you found out about Mr. Troy, or what you know about the sea monster, but I can't let either of you leave here alive."

"Sea monster?" Roger stared at him in confusion, while bringing the grapple-hook side of his wristwatch forward to target Grandeau's weapon. His aim was thrown off by a sudden earth vibration that he and Dorothy knew very well. Before Grandeau could react, a massive geyser of dirt and rock exploded upward from only thirty feet away. The hotel manager was thrown off his feet and dropped the gun as a colossal black megadeus emerged from underground.

"Perfect timing, Big O!" Roger shouted. He shot the grapple hook and line at Grandeau and with a twist of his arm wrapped the manager up tight. "Now what's this about a sea monster?"

"Roger . . . ." Dorothy pointed toward the ocean less than a block away. Something was causing a violent surf to erupt all along the visible seashore, something big that was beginning to rise out of the water. Grandeau saw the shape emerging and fainted.

"Oh. _That_ sea monster!" Roger helped Dorothy unfasten the concrete blocks from her legs, and they jumped onto the giant hand that Big O held down for them. "It looks like Big O and I have a job to do after all! Showtime!" The megadeus lifted them into its pilot chamber and Roger took hold of the controls as the familiar activation phrase flashed on Big O's main screen:

"CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD – YE NOT GUILTY"

From their new elevation, Roger and Dorothy could see the potential menace swimming toward the resort area, raising huge tentacles out of the water. Tourists were running about in confusion, some of them noticing the squid-like monster approaching while others were staring at the black megadeus. Roger steered Big O toward the nearest building and opened the hatch on the pilot chamber.

"Dorothy – get as many people off the beach as you can! Warn the authorities! I'm going to try to stop that thing!"

She nodded and sprang down onto the roof of the building and then to the ground, running toward the beach as quickly as she could. Roger turned Big O toward the ocean, and with grim determination waded the megadeus out into the roiling waters to meet the enemy.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

"So where shall we go tomorrow night – the Black Hat? The Bistro Bourbonne?" Angel grinned wickedly.

Dastun grunted in a non-committal fashion and continued tapping at his computer. He didn't begrudge spending a little money – he had no use for the damn stuff anyway. But he hated losing a bet, and he hated wearing fancy clothing even more.

"Or we could just skip dinner and go on a robbery spree," she said, annoyed at being ignored.

"Whatever. Huh." He tapped the screen in frustration.

"So what's more fascinating than me?" She peered over his shoulder to get a look at the monitor herself. "Isn't that the hotel Roger called from?"

"Uh huh," Dastun nodded. "Thought I'd at least _try_ to find out something about the place since Roger asked, but damned if I'm getting anywhere from here."

Angel pushed him to the side and got in front of the computer herself.

"Amateur," she snorted. "If you want to spy, call a professional." She began tapping the keys on his computer at a rapid pace. "Let's see . . . ." She flicked through screen after screen in quick succession before coming to what she wanted.

"That's the hotel's financial records!" Dastun protested. "You can't go in there!"

"Sure I can," Angel said with a wicked grin. "I'm the new Power Authority, remember? The most likely thing going on in a place like that is a bit of tax dodging. So let's check, shall we?" She pored over the records for several minutes before sitting back and shaking her head. "Not much there. Looks like they've been skimming the room revenue tax a little is all."

"How can you tell?"

"Simple." She brought up another screen. "That one's collected at the end of a guest's stay. And according to this, not as many people have been checking out as checking in." She said the words casually, but then froze as the sudden realization occurred. She and Dastun looked at each other in stunned silence.

"Oh, hell!" Dastun muttered. Before he could say anything else, he heard a commotion in the hallway outside.

"Colonel!" A patrolman shouted, "We just got a call that something's attacking the Eastern Dome and a megadeus has showed up – that black one!"


	6. To Scuttle The Cuttle

_Where did it go?_ Roger wondered _. A creature that big couldn't just vanish, could_ _it?_ Unless it had been an illusion, like the ones created by Osrail, the 'ghost' megadeus. The ocean was still riled up, but Big O had caused some of that just by wading in. Just then, a patch of water and sand shifted, and a massive tentacle rose out of the water to wrap itself around the megadeus' right leg. Before Roger could react, it yanked hard enough to send Big O crashing down beneath the surface of the water, sending a mini-tidal wave toward the beach.

"Not big on manners, are you?" Roger grumbled, struggling with the controls to right the megadeus. He could see his opponent now – if only briefly. _Some kind of giant cuttlefish_ , he realized. _And it's using camouflage._ Even as he watched through the monitors, the giant creature shifted colors to become almost invisible against the background scenery. Too late, he saw another tentacle latch onto Big O's right arm, and with both limbs on that side grabbed, the megadeus tilted off balance and was unable to rise. The sea monster, when Roger could see it, looked to be at least as large as the megadeus and in the water had the clear advantage. More tentacles latched on, and began to draw Big O toward its monstrous beak. Roger pulled back on the control to Big O's free left arm, and gave the creature a piston-powered punch. The megadeus' arm shot forward like a cannon ball and struck its target with the usual accuracy. But on the pliable, jelly-like creature the punch had no discernible effect - its rippling hide absorbed the shock and the tentacles latched on even tighter.

 _How the hell do I fight this thing?_ Roger knew another punch would be just as useless, and most of Big O's arm and chest-mounted ammunition couldn't be fired off underwater at such close range without doing considerable damage to Big O too. _Better think of something fast_. As the megadeus' right leg came into range, the sea monster's beak clamped around it and started to bite down. Metal designed to handle the weight of a megadeus began to buckle.

"You're not going to make a meal of me that easily!" Roger shouted, and hoping it would work, pressed down with his foot to activate a special panel in the floor of the pilot chamber that he'd used only once before. "Eat force-shield instead!" As the floor panel recessed, a bubble of energy burst outward from the center of the megadeus, taking the sea creature by surprise and tearing it off in the nick of time. But the force shield, with no hydra-energy blast to sustain it, faded quickly. Roger managed to get Big O standing upright once more before the sea monster turned around ready to make another attack. Again, the cuttlefish started to fade, showing up against the background as little more than a ripple in the water. Roger now used the thermal scope to spot it with ease.

"Impressive little trick," Roger said, "but it isn't going to work on me twice. Let's see how you like a little spear fishing!" Aiming with the scope, he fired one of Big O's anchor chains at the cuttlefish, and it struck dead center with far more effect than the piston-punch had. The sharp anchor ripped into the creature and it attempted to flee rather than attack, but the grapple had struck deep and the chain held it fast. The monstrous 'catch' had another trick as well – a stream of dark, inky liquid shot out of its abdomen and onto the anchor chain. As the ink touched it, the chain began to dissolve. Roger narrowly steered the megadeus away from another stream that the beast targeted straight at him.

"If you're going to fight dirty," Roger said, "let's end this once and for all." Raising both of Big O's arms, he charged up the chrome buster laser. Using the scope again to see through the dark, acid-filled water, he took aim and blasted away at the cuttlefish. Seawater boiled and turned to steam at the chrome buster's touch, obscuring visibility, while the weapon's heat made the thermal scope useless. A second later, an underwater explosion shook the megadeus and large, disconnected sections of tentacle began striking Big O's metal arm shields. The water grew murky with bits of blasted cuttlefish and acidic ink. The laser's devastation had been total.

"So much for that. Let's hope there aren't any more of them," Roger said to Big O as he turned the megadeus back toward the beach. Roger's heart almost skipped a beat when he saw how much damage the combat-generated waves had done. Beach chairs and umbrellas bobbed in the water or lay tossed like kindling against the resort railings. Now slicks of cuttlefish parts and acid washing toward shore made the water even more hazardous. But no bodies, alive or dead, appeared in the surf. In the distance Roger saw a single, small figure perched like a high wire artist on top of the beach railing and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dorothy watched and waited as he and Big O slowly made their way back onto more solid ground, accompanied by the approaching sound of military police sirens.

Roger headed the megadeus back in the direction of the train tunnel before exiting the pilot chamber and joining Dorothy down below. He now had a few more bruises to keep the ones inflicted by R. Garth Troy company.

"This vacation is turning out to be a lot less restful than I would have thought," he complained, rubbing his neck stiffly. He tilted his head back as Dorothy began to massage his shoulders, just in time to see a leftover blob of acidic cuttlefish ink drop from a section of Big O's right arm shield. "Look out!" he yelled, pushing her back. The acid landed on the front of his jacket and he tore the jacket and shirt off and threw them on the ground barely in time to avoid being burned along with them.

"You'd better warn Norman to give him a bath," Dorothy said as the black megadeus went back underground for a return trip to the mansion.

"And have him alert the military police about the toxic beach cleanup too." Roger tapped a control on his wrist watch and a few seconds later Norman's face appeared on the viewscreen. Roger explained the situation in brief.

"Very good, Sir," Norman took it all in with his usual aplomb. "But shouldn't you put some clothes on?"

Roger signed off and realized the butler had a point. The bare-chested look wouldn't exactly do anywhere _except_ the beach, and the angry purple marks left by Troy would be hard to explain. But as he and Dorothy made their way back to their hotel suite, another nasty surprise was awaiting them. Roger opened his side of the closet and stared at the empty hangers in disbelief.

"My clothes are missing!" A quick search of the room revealed nothing else had been taken – only Roger's wardrobe. "What the hell is it with this place?" he cried. "And what am I supposed to wear?"

Dorothy looked in the closet and reached back into the shadows where a barely visible garment lay crumpled.

"They didn't take everything," she said, pulling out the gaudy Hawaiian shirt.

"Yuck!" Roger winced. "I'd rather wear one of your dresses!"

"I do not think it will fit, but . . . ." With a bland expression, she helpfully held out her darkest taffeta gown for him.

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Dastun shuddered as he saw the mammoth globs of cuttlefish rolling up onto the sands. He didn't even like _normal_ seafood, and judging from the size of its scattered bits and pieces, there had been nothing normal about this creature. The wrecked beach lay just outside the domed resort area, attached to the Garland Rose Hotel along a thin strip of land. The sand here would need heavy decontamination, but the hotel itself remained undamaged and no lives had been lost – at least today.

"Colonel Dastun . . . ."

The officer turned around at the sound of R. Dorothy Wayneright's voice and did a double take. Roger stood beside her, but that shirt he was wearing . . . !

"As you value your life and our friendship, Dastun, not a word," Roger muttered through clenched teeth. "Not one."

"I owe you an apology," Dastun said, gesturing out at the beach wreckage. " _That_ sure wasn't your imagination. And Angel-"

"She isn't here, is she?" Roger yelped in alarm and ducked behind Dorothy, scrunching to conceal himself.

"Nah. She's back at Paradigm HQ trying to figure out how many people might have gone missing because of that thing."

"The sea creature probably isn't the only one to blame," Roger said, trying to look dignified as he came out of his crouch. "Our gracious host Mr. Grandeau tried to kill us just before the battle, and I suspect his security android has been in on a few disappearances as well. He had a crush on Dorothy and an even bigger crush on me." Roger showed Dastun one of the bruises Troy had left on his upper arms. "You shouldn't have any trouble reeling him in though. Dorothy took advantage of his magnetic personality. You'll find him and Grandeau both in the junkyard, which is a good place for them as far as I'm concerned." He took Dorothy's hand in his own. "Now if you don't mind, Dastun, I have something of great importance to attend to."

"And what's that?" Dastun asked.

"Clothes shopping."

[OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]

Norman had almost finished cleaning the sand, saltwater, and cuttlefish ink off Big O by the time Roger and Dorothy returned.

"You decided to cut your vacation short then, Master Roger?"

"We wore out our welcome," Roger said, looking up at his slightly damaged megadeus. "I thought it best."

"Ah." The butler sounded entirely unsurprised by this turn of events. He noticed Roger was back to wearing his usual black suit and tie. "Did you have a good time at least?"

"Except for getting attacked three times and having my clothes stolen, yes." Roger smiled over at Dorothy, who was walking toward them wearing her pretty green dress. "In fact, I might have to take another vacation as soon as possible."

Norman cleared his throat.

"Actually, Sir, Colonel Dastun has requested that I prevent you from doing so at gunpoint if necessary, until he can equip the military police better to handle the consequences," the butler said. "Oh, and he asked me to tell you that he'd found your missing garments. They were in the maids' quarters, being subjected to some sort of purification ritual."

"What?" Roger gaped at him. "Why?"

"He also found a large collection of pre-Event books that the maids had in their quarters-"

"Pre-Event?" Roger whistled. "Those must be worth a fortune!"

"Yes, well the maids apparently found them in the hotel's basement some time ago, a collection of works by a Mr. King and a novel by Bram-something-or-other. And they came to the conclusion that you resembled a type of monster described in these books, some sort of ravishing, blood-drinking fiend. I can't imagine why."

"Some people are just strange, I guess," Roger sighed. "Present company excepted of course."

Norman nodded and went off toward his work room to get some more tools to repair the big megadeus. Dorothy stared at Roger with a curious expression.

"You do not drink blood," she said. "But I wouldn't mind the ravishing part."

"Oh, you wouldn't?" He drew her into an embrace. "What do you say we go upstairs and practice our vacation skills?"

Dorothy had only one thing to say . . . .

 **WE HAVE COME TO TERMS**


End file.
